Sparks Fly Upward
by gloriousfrays
Summary: [LIKE REALLY, REALLY AU] As criminal mastermind Oliver Queen breaks out of prison he sets out on a journey to take down the man who put him there. But the road is terribly long and winding, and what is a great conman without his companions anyway? Not a single object of financial value is safe during this story filled of cons, heists, questions of morality and quite the romance.
1. First

_Hellooooo fellow (let'scallus) arrowians. or wait. do we have a name?  
This is my first attempt of an Arrow Fanfic; I've previously only done stuff for Doctor Who, but it was a long time ago and my writing has developed something so immensely since then, so please don't judge me by that. This is, as you already may have read, completely AU—even though I like to throw some canon stuff into mix, like characters and their relationships and story arcs, if yet slightly adapted to fit my own selfish purposes.  
For those of you wondering, yes, this will (eventually) be an olicity story, but since i'm starting from scratch here it will be slow-burn but totally worth it. in my opinion then, which might be a bit biased since i'm the writer. hm.  
I've already written the second chapter, which is about five times as long as this one, and will probably post it later tonight (because yes, it is night here in sweden aka north of the wall). Which reminds me; English is so not my first language and I am human so there will most certainly be mistakes. Please point them out for me, so that I can improve both my writing and language skills, even though it's probably just the result me being lazy.  
So, this text turned out to be longer than intended. I'm gonna stop now. But lastly; reviews is for me what blood is for vampires. just a little something to think of._

* * *

Yet man is born to trouble, as surely as sparks fly upward  
— Job 5:7

* * *

**_I._  
That What Makes Our Sins Unwritten**

Oliver Queen had been at Lian Yu for five years.

Five years of Hell.

Five years spent in Purgatory, as the Chinese so cleverly had named it.

He hadn't always been alone in his cell, not as he was now, and the people he had met had permanently changed him forever. Apart from a few exceptions, Oliver had met men and women whose souls he was sure couldn't be of this Earth, and even if they were, they would now burn for an eternity in whatever hells there were. They had been the kind of people whom always had that vicious spark in their eyes, as if they were eagerly waiting for the right moment or the right sharpened fork to stab him in the eye. Some had been madly righteous in all the wrong ways, some had just been mad, out of longing for vengeance or world domination or simply another purpose than the one they had now.

First, when he had been placed here, there had already been a man named Yao Fei living in his cell for quite sometime. The asian elder hadn't spoken to him at first, only looked at him silently with those black, searching eyes. Then one day, moments after their daily meal had roughly been dropped through the hatch and Oliver had stared at it with longing in his gaze as he used all his willpower to remain firm in his decision not to eat anything these men gave him, the Chinese had picked up both their plates and shoved Oliver's hard against his chest, more or less forcing him to take it.

"_Shengcún_," he'd said, not dropping Oliver's gaze.

"What?" Oliver had said, dumfounded. The man had pointedly looked down at the food and then up at Oliver again.

"Shengcún."

"I don't speak Chinese," Oliver had said dryly, exhausted from several days without anything to settle his roaring stomach. He'd peered down at his plate and examined the grayish food. The smell had somewhat reminded him of chicken. "Bird?" he'd asked. "Shengcún; bird?"

"Shengcún," the man had said again, starting to make Oliver irritated.

"Yeah, well I'm not going to eat any _shengcún_ only 'cause it's got a fancy name in Chinese," he'd snapped, throwing his plate against the wall and tried not to flinch at the sharp sound that echoed through the cell as hard metal hit even harder stone. He'd spun away from the older man and stalked to his bed, which was only a few feet way in the narrow cell, and sat down with such force that the rusty, old springs squeaked loudly in protest. The mattress was so thin that he could feel each and every one of them poking him in the behind.

Staring down at his hands, he'd in the corner of his eyes seen how the other man slowly bent down to collect the wide-spread food back on the plate and then put it back in front of the hatch. Steadily, he'd walked up to Oliver, only to stop so close to him that their toes nearly were touching, but Oliver had continued to defiantly stare down at his thigh-knit hands, refusing to look up. Then a plate had been held out in front of him, the Chinese's plate, and out of jaw-dropping surprise he'd forgotten all about his irritation and stared up at the weathered face.

"Shengcún," the man had said slowly, as if every word was very important and could not be misheard, "not bird." Oliver had blinked. "Shengcún... _survive_." Then he'd pushed his plate into Oliver's hands and had without another word climbed up to his part of the bunk bead.

Oliver had sat staring down at his plate for awhile, his jaw silently working but the words had failed him. It wasn't until after a good minute had passed that he had come back to himself, the smell of the chicken had filled his nose and made him drool worse than Pavlov's dogs. He'd taken a bite and even though it probably hadn't tasted anything at all, it was at that moment the best he'd ever eaten. He'd even had to bite himself in the tongue not to let out a groan of satisfaction.

Even though he'd known that he'd feel sick later if he ate it all at once, he hadn't found enough strength to stop himself and in less than a minute the plate had been licked clean. Slowly, and without making a sound, he'd put it down on the floor beside his bed and then leaned back against his headboard. He'd heard the man above him breathing, and it wasn't the breathe of someone already asleep.

"Thank you," he'd whispered, and even though he hadn't gotten an answer, he'd known that his words had pierced the tense silence and had been heard by the man up above.

Later he'd learned that the man's name was Yao Fei, that he had a daughter named Shado and seconds before the guards had shot him between the eyes he'd learned that he had been forced to take the blame for a terrible crime he'd had nothing to do with. The similarities between them had nearly been ridiculously clear, and Oliver could nothing do when the thoughts of him ending up the same way came late at night.

Only days after Yao Fei's death the guards had brought in another man, an Australian, named Slade Wilson. Oliver had become good friends with him during the year that had passed, even as close as brothers, and Slade had taught him more than he could ever thank him for, things that over and over had saved his life. Together they had planned an escape. Slade had been in the military and knew the buildings blueprints by heart. He had also known how to fight and kill, and even though Oliver hadn't been able to bring much to the table Slade had insisted that he'd never be able to do it all by himself. The night of the escape came and they successfully broke out of the cell. They made it far, further than Oliver ever truly had allowed himself to believe that they would make it, but as Slade had headed to the laundry to steel the face-covering uniforms, Oliver had caught a glimpse of the monitoring screens. One cell stood out. One name. One girl. _Shado_. He'd never been able to repay Yao Fei for everything he'd done, but seeing that black-haired girl crumbling in fetal position on her thin mattress lit a fire within Oliver like nothing else ever had. He was going to rescue her. He was going to take her with them. He was going to save Yao Fei's daughter, because he hadn't been able to save Yao Fei.

As Slade had come back, Oliver had only offered him a half-worthy explanation and pointed towards the screen. Then Slade's face had gone pale, and before Oliver had been able to react, he had taken of in a sprint towards cell 52. Oliver had hurried after him, and somewhere along the way, during the following fifteen minutes, he'd learned that Slade loved Shado and that he'd travel to the end of the world and back for her. But then Shado died, killed by same guard that had killed her father. _Fyers_. He'd pointed a gun at her, and Slade had thrown himself in the way. But Oliver had thrown himself after his friend. In his attempt to save the man who he loved like a brother, he'd indadvertedly killed the woman Slade loved more than life itself. And oh, had Slade blamed him.

They had been brought back to their cell and before the guards even fully had let him go, Slade had been in front of Oliver, his strong hands wrapped around Oliver's neck. There had been tears in his eyes, tears of such an immense pain that Oliver had known he had been the one to cause, so for a few seconds he'd stopped struggling. He'd looked down at Slade, the man who was his brother who wanted him dead, and felt no need to fight as Death prepared to welcome him as his own. Then something had taken over. Call it whatever you want, a final act of remorse or pure survival instinct, but somehow he'd managed to push away from Slade and gripped whatever had been nearby, and driven it with all his strength into Slade's body.

It had turned out to be a fork, and he had hit Slade's left eye.

Panting, he'd sacked against the wall, staring at something far ahead as the guards had lifted away Slade's twisting form as he'd screamed in agony. They'd probably killed him, both punishing him for trying to leave and ending his suffering all at once. Or they'd let him be, watched him die a most painful death, being the monsters he knew they were. Oliver hadn't know. He still didn't know. All he knew was that he'd never see Slade Wilson, his brother, ever again.

There had been many after Yao Fei and Slade—Ivo, Sarah, Collins, Kwon, Idrina, Louis, only to mention a few—but he would always come to remember his mentor and his brother the strongest. Their actions and their words had had such a great impact on him, forming him during those five years, making him the man he was now. They had made him not only stronger, but smarter, and with his eyes set on a higher prize than the short-lived kick of adrenaline. He'd come to Lian Yu as a common thief, a silly boy with no ambitions whatsoever, but these five years had shown him that he was so much more than that. He'd be greater than what the world had ever seen, greater than his father, and would start by taking down the man who had put him here in the first place.

And that's why, after the bomb had gone off and left a sizable hole in his isolated cell's otherwise so grim wall, Oliver Queen put a hand on each side of the enormous crack and breathed in the city's lukewarm night air before leaving the Lian Yu Prison without ever even thinking about looking back.


	2. Second

_W-o-w. The response I've gotten for a single chapter, and not a very long one either, is for me amaaazing. Thankyouthankyouthankyou.  
Now this chapter is eating me from the inside and out. It has created a black hole of self-loathing in my stomach, because jeez. I am so not happy with it. But at the same time, this is how I wanted it to play out, so urgh. Here you go._

* * *

**_II.  
_****Close won't kill**

_Six Months Later_

Oliver handed the piccolo quite the generous tip without even looking his way as he entered the hotel room. The boy rushed to say something along the lines of _'Thank you, mr Hardy'_ or_ 'I hope you'll enjoy your stay, mr Hardy'_—Oliver didn't quite listen—before he started to back out of the room. He repeated the same words over and over again to Aaron Jackson, who stood closer to the doors, before he shut them, leaving the two men alone.

Oliver marched through the luxurious rooms, opening one pompously golden and engraved pair of doors after the other, until he found the one he'd been looking for: the bedroom. A kingsized bed stood in the center, it's sheets so silky that they nearly seemed to be in liquid form, and various, enormous paintings hung on the walls. Small palms had been placed in white pots and stood along the walls, and under them thick, red persian carpets was spread out over the floor. A giant mirror hung above the bed, it's frame made out of a gold-like material that made it look incredibly heavy. There were more to see in the room, like the gigantic flatscreen or the thing in the corner that looked like an overgrown lava-lamp, but Oliver only had eyes for the floor-to-roof windows that covered the entire east wall. He walked over to them, pressing his palms flat against the glass as if to see how much pressure it could take. Looking down, he saw the unnaturally bright blue pool and the area with sun-beds surrounding it. He couldn't quite catch a glimpse of the room just beneath his, but he knew the exact length he'd have to drop to get there.

A low whistle made him turn around as Jackson—or John Diggle, as his real name was—entered the room, hands in his pockets and eyebrows raised as he took in the sight.

"Well," he said, "enjoy the stay, 'cause I don't think our dwindling funds can take another night in a room like this. Ever."

Oliver threw his black case on bed, wasting no time but going straight to unpacking. Digg sighed at the cue, but didn't word his complaints. He put down the two bags he'd been carrying, and moved to help his friend.

They worked in a comfortable silence as they put up the required equipment, needing no words to be in sync. They had both been doing this for quite some time now, and most of it had been spent together. They knew one another nearly as well as they knew oneself, which allowed them work both more effectively and faster. It also made them aware of the other's flaws, which was the reason to why Digg had put a hand on the pulley belt before Oliver had had a chance to snatch it.

"I know that you've got worse patience than—" He stopped, frowning. "Okay, you've probably got the worst patience the world has ever seen, but if you do this in broad daylight someone _will_ see you." He firmly put the belt back in the bag. "And we don't want that."

Oliver growled something inaudible, because he knew his friend was right. He needed the protection of the night's darkness to do this, how frustrating it yet may be.

* * *

Killing the next few hours wasn't as hard as he'd thought it would be, but they still passed irritably slow. They went over the plan once more and made sure that the computer ran the programs correctly. Neither of them were too good with technology and they'd had to take help from Digg's old friend Max Anton Heisenberg, who, with a cheesy grin on his face, had introduced himself as the one computer geek to rule them all. It had been shortly followed by a shade of scarlet creeping up his neck and ears until they were so heated that Oliver had given Digg a dubious glare. But his old friend had only shook his head and gone straight to business, and as it turned out, Max Anton Heisenberg was much better at computers than conversations.

It had taken him a few days, but he'd managed to develop a code that would give them, no matter how technical handicapped, access to all of the hotels surveillance cameras and a way to easily change what the cameras were recording with something else. He'd downloaded the footage from last week and had made the code so foolproof that Digg only had to press a single button for it to kick into action.

After an hour or two had passed Oliver had felt so restless that he'd went to a take-away place located a few blocks away, but even as he walked down the street he silently went through the plan in his head, calculating every move and what could go wrong. It was an important mission, the first one to get them somewhere in months, and he sure as hell would make sure that nothing could screw it up.

When back at the hotel, he and Digg shared the food on the floor of the bedroom, their conversation slowly drifting away on other topics than on what they would do later that night, even though Oliver, not very surprisingly, couldn't get the thought out of his head.

"So," Digg drawled, and it wasn't until his low voice pierced the silence that Oliver realized they'd both been quiet for some time. "When are you going to tell me what happened at Lien Yu?"

Oliver tensed immediately, his hand stopping for the fraction of a second on its way to his mouth before proceeding, and he knew that Digg had noticed. He took his time chewing the fried shrimp to buy himself some seconds of thought, but it wasn't until a ridiculously long silence had passed that he answered.

"A lot happened in five years, Digg," he said tiredly, slowly putting his chopsticks down before looking up. "I'm just glad you didn't let it go even further."

He could see Digg recognize the finality in his tone, and how he sighed nearly noticeably as his eyes went down, before putting on the hint of a smile.

"Well, first I had to make sure that your sorry ass was worth saving." Oliver grinned. "But you had some pretty devoted allies who knew how to make a good point." He paused and met Oliver's gaze. "I shouldn't have needed to do that though, not after all the times you've saved my life. I should have believed you."

Oliver shook his head. "Only an idiot wouldn't make himself sure before breaking someone out of Lien Yu. Besides, before I—" He stopped, closing his eyes for a second. "I may have saved your life many times, but I didn't have your back, Digg. Not the way you had mine. Not in the ways that count. I was selfish, and arrogant—"

"No need to tell me things I already know, Oliver," Digg snorted, though with the hint of a grin on his lips. Then a more serious, "And now you've changed?"

"I've changed a lot, Digg. I'm not the same person I was before Lien Yu, not even close. I'm—" He stopped himself mid-sentence and drew a sharp breath. "A lot happened in five years," he repeated, "but all you need to know for now is that it was more than enough to change me."

Digg narrowed his eyes and was quiet as he thought things through. "Fine. Whatever, man, just... just remember that keeping it all to yourself? That's never a good idea. One man can only carry so much." He took a deep breath, as if preparing himself for something. "I _know_ what going through these things can do to you, but you can't just shut the world out, Oliver. You don't feel comfortable with telling me? Fine, it's not like I'm a good listener anyway, but you need to have someone to talk to." He peered up at Oliver. "Like your family. What about Moira, or your sist—"

"Digg." It was wondrous, how one word could carry that much meaning. But the warning tone could not go unnoticed. He stared at his friend, well-aware of his dark eyes and furiously set jaw.

Digg searched his face, but whatever it was for, Oliver could tell he didn't find it.

"Fine, I'll keep it shut." His eyes went to the window, and in the next second he was rising. "It's time."

Oliver glanced over his shoulder to see himself be reflected in the glass, a dark background spreading out behind him. Night had come, and so had their mission.

* * *

"You set?" Digg looked up from the computer and met his gaze. Oliver gave a short nod.

"Where's Åkerman?"

"In the bar," Digg replied. "As predicted. There's two guards with him, the other two are positioned outside his room. Piece of cake." He raised an eyebrow. "Maybe even a little bit _too_ much, if I may say so."

Oliver studied him. "Everything's going according to plan, Digg. Nothing to worry about." He flashed what he knew was a too bright smile, and Digg rolled his eyes.

"You got the Tallad?" He held up the oblong, cylindrical dark device as an answer. Digg only looked even more dubious. "You know how it works?"

Oliver glanced at the window and the dark silhouettes of the city that lay beyond it. The light from the buildings glimmered like a thousand earthbound stars against a black canvas, and the room's high position allowed a spotless view. It was the perfect vantage point.

"I guess there's only one way to find out," he said. As instructed, he put the device against the top of the window and felt how it adjusted to the surface, securing itself to glass to the point where he could let go and it still would be stuck in place. He shifted it to online mode and slowly started to pull downwards, watching as the USP laser cut a steady line, separating left from right. One he'd reached the floor, he straightened and repeated the process on the other side, leaving a sizable square which he'd fit through more than perfectly. Quickly, he dragged the device over the square's upper and lower sides, freeing it completely, before putting it in the middle of the rectangular area. Somewhat impatiently, he waited for the Tallad to attach itself to the glass again before he gripped it with both hands and pulled it against him, back into the room. It needed more force than he'd first thought, but wasn't as much effort as the developer had made it sound. With a short, scraping sound the square made itself free of the rest of the window, leaving a large rectangle of nothing through which fresh city night air blew in.

Digg let out a low whistle as he rose to help Oliver place the glass securely against the wall. "I guess Wayne Enterprises do live up to its reputation." He arched an eyebrow as he stepped closer to the window to look down. "Though I highly doubt this was the intended usage of it."

Oliver didn't reply; he was too busy making sure that the bolt wouldn't give away at his weight to pay his full attention to Digg's words, but no matter how hard he pulled, the bolt steadily remained in place.

He crossed the room in two strides and put on the belt with practiced ease, constantly feeling the weight of Digg's gaze.

"What?" he grunted, moving back to the window to attach himself to the pulley.

"Nothing," Digg breathed out.

"Out with it."

His partner waited a beat before shaking his head and replying with a dry, "Fine." He gazed out the window. "I'm not so sure this is a good idea, Oliver."

"Well," Oliver said, pulling at the rope once more. "It's kind of to late to have second thoughts, Diggle."

"Are we sure this is the best way to do this?" Digg took a step closer to him. "We've only got one chance; we can't waste it."

"I'm well-aware."

"It's just that I... I've got a bad feeling about this, man. I mean, we're putting an awful lot of faith into a _code_, Oliver. A code neither of us can understand, even less try and fix if there's a problem."

Oliver paused. "Do you think Heisenberg could have set us up?"

"No," Digg hastened to say. "No, of course not; I've known him since before he learned what a computer even was. But he's _human_, and humans make mistakes. If there's as much as a little typo in that code, this whole operation could go south. And _we_ can't afford that."

Oliver pressed his lips together, trying, and failing, at swallowing an irritated sigh. "Then what would you have us do, Diggle? Put the window back in place, leave and just abort this whole operation?"

"For now, yes. Then we'd find someone with Max's skills that could follow us out in the field and make sure that everything's running the way it should."

Oliver shook his head. "Åkerman's here _now_, with the hard drive and the information we need. I'm not leaving until I've got what I came for."

A few seconds of tense silence passed between them as they stared each other dead in the eye. But somewhere along the way Digg must have realized that Oliver wasn't going to back down, because he was the first to look away.

"Fine," he said. "Whatever, man. It's your funeral."

"No," Oliver said in a low voice, pulling up the hood of his sweater to hide as much of his face as possible, and backed towards the windows. "It was my father's." Then, without waiting to see Digg's reaction, he jumped back-first out of the window and felt the chilly wind, the chilly nothingness, envelope him.

* * *

He stopped abruptly and the rope gave a snapping sound, but as he stayed in place it assured him that it still was whole. Carefully, he pressed the button on the pulley and with his feet placed against the glass wall to keep him steady, he was slowly lowered until his position outside the room under his was perfect. Looking down, he could see the dark shapes of the pool area and it's sun-beds spreading out under him. The pool itself was well-lit but empty, and none of the nearby tourists were close enough to see his dark figure against the building. Most of the windows surrounding him didn't let out as much as a glimmer of light, including his own, and it was a blessing. It would be hard to see him even then, but now it was practically impossible.

He took the Tallad out of his pocket and got to work. This time he didn't bother to do a square that large, only just enough for him to climb through without cutting himself too badly. It was harder to remove the glass this time though, as he had to jump with his feet against the window without using too much strength—he couldn't afford the glass to shatter and fall down on some nosy tourist—but using too little wasn't proving to give any results. Shooting back further from the building, only to come back with greater impetus, he managed to work up enough speed to feel the glass move, if only the third of an inch, but it gave him enough encouragement to pull away for one last strike. Though as he came swinging back, not even a second before colliding with the glass, he felt the rope give away as the bolt disengaged from the bedroom wall, sending him more or less falling headlong. Instinctively, he frantically gripped for something to hold on to, but his groping hands found nothing but air. Though in some miraculous way he'd managed to get enough of the lower part of his body on the right side of the window for it to weigh more. His back slid over the newly cut glass, making him hiss in pain, until he sat crouched on the floor. It was only that his landing had made more noise than he'd intended; more noise than what the closed door would seal off. Tense like the string of a bow Oliver flew to his feet in battle position, waiting for Åkerman's guards to come rushing through the door.

But nearly a minute passed, and he didn't heard as much as the creak of a boot. Still moving with the carefulness of a cat, he set the comm link to Digg online.

"Oliver!" Digg's voice exploded in his ear, startling him enough to lean slightly to the left, as if trying to move away from the sharp sound. "I thought I'd have to scrape you of the pool deck, you son of a—"

"I'm fine," he abruptly cut his friend off as he started to haul in the rope. "Just buy your bolts at another store next time." He took out his knife and cut off the end of the rope, catching the metal bolt in his hand before it could reach the floor. He wouldn't trust that thing again, but the rope could still be tied around something robust and work it's purpose just fine. Though getting back to his room upstairs using the window way was no longer an option.

Digg snorted, but his voice wasn't hard as hard when he spoke again. "How are you going to get out of there, Oliver? It's not like you could waltz out the front door."

"I'll think of something," Oliver said, slightly distracted as he began searching the room for Åkerman's computer. Amazingly enough, the safe stood wide open and empty—which only left four arguably large rooms that could all be possible hiding places. Oliver growled.

"Great," Digg said, the sarcasm clearer than what should be possible over comm. "I'll just wait here then."

"Digg," Oliver warned. "Can you get me anything useful about where he would hide the computer?"

"Oh, I don't think I can, Oliver," he said dryly, "but boy, wouldn't we need someone who could? As it is, I actually happen to know someone back in Starling—"

"_Just_—" Oliver snapped, forcing himself to take a deep breath. "Just keep an eye on Åkerman."

Soundlessly, he opened the door, sneaking out of the bedroom and into a parlor of some sort, and there, carelessly placed on a coffee table, Åkerman had decided to leave his computer. It wasn't even turned off, meaning all Oliver had to do was to plug in the USB. It held another one of Heisenberg's codes, though this time to search through the hard drive for specific information. The Swede must have believed that nothing could get through the guards.

It took a few minutes until everything about the Centipede Device had been detected. Oliver was quick to hit download, but it was not even five seconds later that he heard Digg's voice in his ear.

"Uh-oh."

"What?" he growled.

"Åkerman's leaving the bar," Digg said, and Oliver could hear his fingers typing something into the computer. "_And_, he's heading for the elevator. He's on his way up, Oliver."

"I thought you said he'd be there all night." His words were grim, even though he deep down knew it wasn't Diggle's fault.

"Well, he's not alone," Digg replied as an explanation. "He's got four young blondes glued to his body."

Oliver closed his eyes. "How long?"

"Not even two minutes."

"I need more time," he said through clenched teeth. The download hadn't even reached four percent.

Digg was quiet for a beat, then; "I think I can stop the elevator, hold on." There was a long silence—too long, Oliver thought—before his friend spoke again. "He's taking the stairs, but I was too slow; it's only three floors. You need to get out of there Oliver, _now_."

"The download's only at fifteen percent."

"It doesn't matter," Digg said sharply. "We'll get a new chance—"

"_No_," Oliver roared. "You said it yourself; one shot. I can't screw it up, Digg. I need what's on that hard drive."

"Oliver, if you don't get out of there now you'll have an even lesser chance at avenging your father. You can't do it from prison—and definitely not from the dead. We'll find another way to get the information, just get out. _Now_."

Oliver clenched his fist but stopped it the second before it hit the coffee table. He closed his eyes momentarily, knowing that Digg was right, but it was just as frustrating nonetheless. Growling and hissing at the same time, sounding suspiciously much like an animal, he pulled the USB from the computer, and just that small act made something unpleasant dig into his stomach. It felt like taking a step back, being back at square one, which was only even further away from his father and everything he deserved.

Deciding that he had a few more seconds, he scrolled through the information and tried to memorize as much as possible. What caught his eye were the name of a company, 'Sempler Tech Industries', and an address, 'Sherman Road 13C, Metropolis', though they were written separately and didn't seem to have any visible connections. Then he hastily put the computer back where he'd found it and ran for the bedroom.

Without wasting more time, he decided that the giant wardrobe was the best option and tied a knot as good as time allowed him. Then, not wanting to have enough time to think his plan through and get second thoughts, he once more that night threw himself out a window from a twenty-plus floor. Only this time he wouldn't have time to use the Tallad.

The sound as he came crashing through the window was deafening, and every little sharp piece of glass cut against his skin like needles. His back, hurting from the first landing, felt as if the flesh had been severed from the spine and he could feel the dampness of wet blood soaking the fabric of his hood. He had barely touched the floor before a woman started screaming and a lamp somewhere near was lit, it's bright light blinding him for a second. He hauled himself to his feet, ignoring the agonizing pain and staggered for the door. Seeing an old couple in the bed, both of them staring at him in jaw-dropping horror, he gave a short nod before pushing the door open and disappeared.

"Digg?" he growled, his hand pressed against his back, as if it would help stop the bleeding.

"... stair's compromised," Digg's rushed voice said in his ear. "I'm at the the elevators now; I'll be on your floor in fifteen seconds."

Oliver kicked the door open and stumbled out into the main corridor, which was so well-lit that it was enough to make him disorientated for a second. When he could stand somewhat upright without having an arm resting against the wall, he headed for the elevator to his right.

"The code's only taking care of the camera footage in the stairwell," he wheezed, absently tugging at the hood.

"I know," Digg said, his voice strained. "That's why I'm working like hell to erase the elevator's."

There were a soft _ding _before the smooth, metal doors slid apart and revealed a space as large as a room, every wall covered in spotless mirrors, and in the middle of it stood Digg, his fingers furiously typing on a tabloid.

Oliver had just taken his final step inside as the doors slid shut behind him and the elevator started to take them down.

"I'm not going to say I told you so," Digg said, looking up for a second. "But I totally did, man."

"Just—_please_, fix the cameras."

"Yes, sir."

The ride down didn't take much longer than a minute, but for Oliver it felt like a small eternity. He kept glancing up at the not so well hid camera, but otherwise kept his hood on and head down. Digg, on the other hand, didn't have anything to protect his face. If he didn't fix the footage, he'd be a walking target, just waiting to be found and hit.

When they finally reached the bottom floor, Oliver was only slightly surprised to find himself standing in the underground garage. Digg took the lead, guiding them back to the car, and jumped into the driver's seat without hesitation. Oliver sat down beside him, slamming the door shut, and it was with screeching tires as they emerged from the hotel and into the night.

* * *

Oliver stood in the shower for over an hour. Shifting between numbingly cold and scolding hot water, he went through the night's events and found himself growing just as angry every time. He'd been so close—_so_ _close—_and now he probably was further away than ever. They could probably find someone with similar information about the project, but only to _find_ Åkerman had taken months, and then weeks of plotting and planning. He didn't have that time. Merlyn needed to be taken down _now_, without delay.

He'd spent hours after they'd gotten to the cheap motel searching through the internet after the address and company name he'd found, but there had been nothing of value. Åkerman may not have been the most careful of men, but those who had developed the Centipede Device certainly were. He would need someone with more skill to decipher the chaos of information, someone like Heinsenberg.

Finally stepping out of the shower, Oliver cleaned the mirror free of steam with the back of his hand and found himself staring at his reflection.

He looked like hell.

Ugly healed scars covered his body, especially his torso, and every single one witnessed of a horrible deed, most of them originally caused by himself. His hair was dark and colorless, his stubble on the brink of becoming a beard. His eyes seemed to rest on shadows, telling the tale of a man who slept too little—a man who couldn't sleep because of the nightmares. Only that they weren't just that, nightmares. Dreams. They were memories, _real_ memories, haunting him and making a daily reminder of his sinful past.

He looked down, no longer able to bring himself to face his own gaze, and crossed his hands behind his neck. The gesture made his back sting as if someone had raked their nails through his skin, and one quick look in the mirror told him that the wounds had been ripped open again. He'd probably need to ask Digg to look over it after all.

A minute later he left the bathroom fully dressed, save the shirt in his hand, and Digg only gave him a glance before stretching for his bag to search for the first aid kit.

Oliver sat down on the bed, leaning forward with his elbows resting against his thighs, and stared at a spot between his feet as Diggle cleaned, sewed and patched him up. When done, he held out two painkillers. Oliver gave them a glance before picking them up and walking back to the bathroom, where he threw them in the toilet and didn't look back. Feeling the pain was his way of punishing himself. He'd been so close, but had failed nonetheless. He had failed his father, even after all the faith his old man had put in him. There were no forgiveness in that.

Another half an hour passed without either of them saying much. Oliver stood with his arm leaned against the window and gazed out over the city. It'd be morning soon, and people would be hurrying about, following their daily routines, just like normal people did.

Digg lay sprawled across the bed, watching TV and grunting for himself every once in awhile. It was quiet and strangely peaceful considering the circumstances, even if it only was a facade, so it wasn't very strange that both of them jumped as the door was kicked in and five armed men brutally entered the room.

Five men, including Åkerman.

"Well," he drawled as he walked over the threshold, pretending to examine the place. "Isn't this quite the let down after Sutherlands?"

Oliver stared at the man and for the moment being the fact that four guns were aimed at them didn't bother him even the slightest. This was Åkerman—_Åkerman_—who had the information he so desperately needed. He'd just been given another chance. He couldn't believe his luck.

His fingers twitched, knowing that his gun wasn't even two yards away, and it took as his willpower not to look towards where it was hidden.

Åkerman steadily met his gaze. "Why were you in my room?" he asked, his tone dangerously low. "What were you looking for? And who sent you?"

"Who are you?" Oliver asked, his voice a few notes higher than normally, making him sound much younger.

Åkerman looked at his men, a miserable expression on his face. "Oh, and here I was _hoping_ that this would go easy." He sighed dramatically. "But it still can—actually, it's the way I'd advice you to chose, because..." He moistened his lips. "Well, do you see my man Holt here? He's very skilled with taking the eyeballs out of a living human." Something glimmered in his steel blue eyes when neither of them replied. "Oh, did you really think switching the surveillance footage was a new move? It didn't take my man on the job more than a minute before I had your faces, your names, your license plate and even your latest known location delivered at my feet." He clucked his tongue, slowly shaking his head as if it was the saddest thing he'd heard to date. "You disappoint me, mr Queen. I thought your father would have passed on more than just the family name."

"Yeah," Digg said roughly, speaking up for the first time. "He also passed on the bodyguard." In the exact same moment as he reached for the gun behind his back, Oliver dove for the bag. And then hell broke loose. Bullets rained from both sides, though two of Diggle's were first with hitting one of the guards right in the chest. Oliver fired three shots before ducking behind the desk, hearing how at least one of the bullets went through human flesh. He peered around the edge, only to have to throw himself back as he felt a bullet go through the upper part of his ear. He waited two seconds before hauling himself to his feet and firing another three shots, then dove down again, but he could hear the man's scream get cut off as one of the bullets went through his throat. There was a low thud as the guard fell to the floor.

He rose in time to see Digg let go of his grip around one of the guards' neck, giving him a short nod before he'd rushed out the door—but Åkerman was gone, as was his fourth man, and they hadn't left a single trace for Oliver to follow. Refusing to believe he'd failed again, he ran down the stairs and to the parking lot, his gun drawn and ready to aim, but just as he reached the road he saw the glimmer of a car disappearing around the corner of a laundromat. By the time he got there, there weren't as much as a trail of road dust to follow. Oliver cursed, slamming his hand against the gun and panting in anger. His pulse was still beating fast by the time Digg pulled up a car next to him, the bright red color being enough for him to notice that it was not the same they'd come here in. He opened the backseat door, only to slam it shut behind him, but Digg had already got the car running at a high speed before it had gotten closed completely.

Oliver gritted his teeth, curling and uncurling his hands to keep himself busy. They'd need to change car soon again, because the stinging pain in his back was enough to let him know that he'd ripped the stitches and was currently getting his blood smeared against the expensive leather seat.

"Where to?" Digg finally asked, but even in those two words Oliver could hear his own anger mirrored.

He didn't miss a beat. "Starling City," he said, ignoring Digg's raised eyebrows as he tried to meet his gaze in the rearview mirror. "And I'm going to need you to set up a meeting with that IT-friend of yours."

"Yes, sir," Digg replied, his anger now nearly completely replaced with a grin as he took the next exit to the city of stars.

* * *

_So, yeah, when I started to write this chapter my idea was to subtly hint that these guys were lost without Felicity, but that subtle little hint somehow got turned into a giant waving and shouting. But, you know, this works too.  
I've currently written half the next chapter, but it'll probably take me a few days to publish it. My plan is to update once a week, but um, I'm super bad with schedules.  
Also, please let me know what you prefer; longer chapters like these but the time between updates is slightly longer, or short chapters and the time between updates is slightly shorter. _


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